The Darkness Between the Stars
by nerdymum
Summary: Two hundred years before the events of the Reaper Wars on the planet of Rakhana the drell are in danger of extinction due to socioeconomic down slide and the depletion of natural resources, until the Hanar rescued a small percentage to live on Kahje and started a rather unusual bond between the two species. This is the story of their exodus and who put the event into motion.
1. Chapter 1

The Darkness Between the Stars

By: Nerdymum

The following story is a work of fiction and is not written or shared for any monetary profit. Mass Effect and all recognizable names, places, and races are sole property of BioWare.

Rate: M for violence and adult themes.

Chapter 1

"And so the Wheel of Fire mills another soul. Entropy wins; entropy always wins." Thane Krios

There was once a Sea in the North; waters as far as the eye could see and teeming with life of all sorts. And so blue was the color that the gods wept at the beauty they created. It was said that Kalahira loved the Ocean so much that she married the waters and placed herself within to accept the souls of the mortals as they left their flesh behind. The faithful she placed on the Eternal Shores to dance and bask in the Light. The wicked were damned to face torment in the dark of the Abyss.

The Sea was cherished, admired, and declared "holy ground" from the beginning of time. This was what was taught, anyway. But the mortals became greedy. They stole from the Sea the delicate lives of the fish and crustaceans, used the salt and the water to fuel their weapons, vehicles, and technology. Thus, the Sea began to fade into nothing.

Centuries passed and the Sea left scars on the dry land as reminders of the life it once had. Salt still clung to the smooth stones; fossils of bones would sometimes peak out from the sands, ominous and sad. It became legend, mythology almost, and the Sea was demoted from a once powerful empire to a magical realm that only children believed in.

They should've known that the death of the Sea would soon bring their death as well.

O . . . O . . . O

Dhoran

A pick axe fell from his calloused hands, clanging dully on the hard, stony earth. According to the shadow at his feet the work day was over but that didn't make him any happier. Dhoran squint his eyes, catching the figures of the other workers across the stone fields wiggling in the heat waves as they too stopped their work, and sighed wearily. Today was payday. That meant a little money to put in his pocket to pay for the basic necessities of every day life, but, more importantly, it meant his weekly ration of water.

He fell into the line with his canteen out and ready and waited, as patiently as he could, for the foreman to carefully fill the small container. Water was the most precious commodity. It meant life could continue. It also meant death for anyone who didn't guard what little they were offered with their meager lives. Everyone was given the same ration each week. If you ran out you didn't get an advance. That was it.

His thoughts drifted to his wife as he waited. He left her in the care of her mother as he went to his work. He wondered if her condition improved or if she worsened.

He focused on a memory, not too distant in the past, where he was standing before her and dropped the delicate, antique marriage veil over her daintily crested head. She smiled brightly and giggled like a child as she returned the motion, her hand brushing over his frill as the brilliant yellow fabric rested on his skull. She was so proud of that veil, sewing the gemstone beads along the hemline by herself into an elaborate pattern. Shimmering crystals portrayed the Marriage of Arashu and Amonkira, showing the gods dancing, embracing, and finally welcoming their First Born, The Twins, who would go on to create the mortal drell.

It was a valuable piece of craftsmanship and probably could've taken them out of the laborer's slums and into a better home. But he couldn't sell it. A piece of Jhaza was in that yellow veil; a part of her soul would remain within the beads, the threads, and the soft fabric. Although, if things didn't get better…

"Hey!" a gruff voice pulled him away from his thoughts. He snapped his head up to see a large male starting to argue with the foreman. "You gave him more water than me!"

Immediately, those still in the line felt the tightening tension. Wandering eyes met glances as a wave of low muttering started to rise from the workers.

"I assure you, Sere, everyone gets the same amount of water," the foreman affirmed, holding up the pitcher with the standard measurement of provision payment clearly marked on the side.

"Lies! I watched you pour more into his canteen!" the instigating worker pointed to a much smaller man, older, but certainly not possessing the same strength as the brute. The accused man's eyes widened with fright and disbelief as his head shook in denial.

"No, not at all! Here, I will show you!" he offered which was a huge mistake and everyone knew it. The younger man stared down into his canteen for a brief second, then looked back up and flashed a dangerous smile. With horror, the group of workers watched the older man's eyes flare wide open in fear and pain, the canteen falling out of his grasp. The pale brown color of the dusty earth was suddenly stained by the deep sticky red of his blood pooling at his feet. The bright flash of metal blinded them for a second as the shank was pulled out of the dying man's chest. The next second chaos ensued as a few of the older workers attacked the murderer with rocks and fists and pick axes. More blood spilled onto the ground, flung in wide patterns by the weapons they wielded.

In a panic, Dhoran ran towards the stunned foreman, filled his canteen as fast as he could, and bolted away from the angered mob of laborers for his home in the city. It wasn't the first time he had seen a worker killed for either unfair rations or just simply to steal his water. But it was happening more frequently and certainly with more violence.

He finally stopped running when he reached the city gates, his lungs aching from the exertion. He held the canteen tightly to his body, whispering a prayer of thanks to Arashu for protecting him and allowing him to live in order to give the water to Jhaza. He continued his trek back to his home through the maze-like streets of Krinnan City towards the poorer part of town. He prayed in silence as he passed the common folk of the capital city of Rakhana, not meeting anyone's eyes. News of the murders in the stone fields would reach everyone's ears soon enough. His prayers had transformed into mantras the closer he got to his little home.

"Please, let my wife be okay. Please, Arashu, Mother of us all, let her be well," he whispered as he hugged the precious canteen to his heart. The smell of dirt and sewage let him know he was now in the slums and closer to home. He could hear the sound of children crying, most likely cries of hunger and thirst; smelled the scent of hafthas, an unleavened bread made of grain with little nutritional value, baking in stone ovens. The prayer on his lips became more desperate and his steps quickened until he was nearly running through the streets.

He pushed open the door to the small stone shack that was his home and allowed his amber eyes to focus past the dark interior onto the figure sitting at the small table. His breathing stopped when he realized that the older woman dressed in her typical dark violet dress was the only person he could see. Her eyes, full of wisdom and sadness, met his, then returned to the long piece of red cloth in her hands as she passed her needle through it creating delicate swirling patterns.

"Jhaza?" he nearly choked on the word, his heart already beginning to break. The older woman shook her head, still not speaking to him as she cut the threads with her teeth. He felt tears beginning to burn in his eyes and a hard lump forming in his throat. He dropped his gaze to the canteen which had been protected by his shaking hands.

"Mother," a soft voice echoed through the silence and Dhoran's tears of despair transformed to tears of elation. The woman stood from her seat, ready to assist her daughter, when she was nearly pushed back down by the man who rushed quickly past her. He dropped to his knees next to the bed and gripped his wife's frail hand, kissing it repeatedly as he rubbed his cheek along her smooth skin.

"Dhory," she whispered and smiled weakly as she turned her head towards him. She continued to rub her engorged belly lovingly with her second hand. The sound of footsteps stopped behind him, and he stood back up to face his mother in law.

"The doctor was here," Leiyana reported in a matter-of-fact tone. "She is worried for both Jhaza and the twins. She grows weaker by the day as do the babies. She suggested taking them early from her."

"You mean to send me to my death, Mother," Jhaza breathed and fluttered her dark amethyst eyes shut. The older woman's mouth twisted into an angered pout as her veiled head shook.

"I mean to keep you and the children alive, Jhaza!" she hissed at her daughter. "You heard the doctor just as clearly as I! If you continue to keep carrying them to a full term there is a greater chance that you will die from the labor than if she simply slit your belly open and freed them from that slowly drying corpse you call your body!"

Dhoran stared at the woman with disbelief and shock as she ranted. She regained her composure and hid her thin hands in the wide sleeves of her dress.

"I will not allow you to martyr yourself for a couple of poor, malnourished children who have no future to look forward to. I have watched this ridiculous charade for far too long without saying anything. It is time you listened to reason, Jhaza. I am sure your husband agrees with me. Don't you Sere Krios?" her eyes, the same violet shade as his beloved's, narrowed as she shifted them up towards him.

"I-I don't kn-know," he stuttered, still stunned by the harsh news and watching two men slaughtered before him only moments ago. Leiyana sighed wearily and shook her head as she walked out of the room.

"I have given my opinion and I will say no more of the matter. If you wish to die, Jhaza, I refuse to stand here and watch you wither away."

Dhoran watched her fade into the shadows of the main room of the tiny house then turned his sight back down to Jhaza who was fighting to not cry. He stooped back down to his knees and kissed her hand again.

"She is right," she nodded and swallowed hard. "Everything she said is right. The doctor mentioned taking the twins through surgery, but I'm not sure we can afford it. Things are difficult with just the two of us and I am not able to work much due to my weakened state. How are four people to survive on the scant money and water we bring in?" she breathed in a sob-wracked gasp and swirled her hand over her very pregnant middle. "If it is just three, then…"

"Don't you dare talk like that!" he whispered and nearly crushed her hand as his grip tightened. "I will do everything I can to keep you alive. The twins will need a mother to care for them as they grow. And, the thought of losing you," he stopped himself and bit down on his lips to keep his own tears from falling. "I will find a way, alright? I will find a way."

O . . . O . . . O

Qirana

"Muffle, muffle, Arashu, muffle, fuzz, Amonkira, blah, blah, sacrifice-" the dull, monotone voice of the old (more like ancient relic) priestess droned on and on to the point young Qirana finally lost any bit of interest in what the crone was saying. She bided her time by daydreaming about meeting up with her friends, the other acolytes training to become temple keepers, and going over any interesting gossip overheard during confessions or prayers. The life of an acolyte was a peaceful one, but it could also be painfully boring for someone with an active imagination. Most priests and priestesses in the making didn't make it to their Final Confirmation. Despite the fact that her family wasn't living in the slums of the city she was bound and determined to become a Priestess of Arashu.

There was an almost romantic notion to leading the masses to prayers during Ceremony and lighting the sweet-smelling oil lamps in the morning and wearing the beautiful white robes with those wonderful, flowing sleeves. But there were also times when she wondered if those silly daydreams of being a Priestess were really just figments of fantasy. So far the only robes she wore were boring gray of a burlap-like material that itched at her throat fiercely and the closest she got to lighting those beautiful crystal lamps were cleaning the soot around the wick stops every evening. At least with being in the care of the Motherhood she received food, water, and shelter everyday. Many people didn't even have that luxury so she couldn't complain too much.

"Qirana!" the priestess barked in a sharp tone not normally characteristic of the antique woman and the adolescent girl immediately snapped to attention. Her wide golden eyes read "guilty" as the milky black of her tutor's bore deep into her soul.

"M-my apologies, Great Sister," she hung her head, allowing the thin white veil to shadow her shamed face. She waited for the scolding speech she was sure to follow but was rather surprised when instead of a harsh tongue she heard the old woman chuckle. The wrinkled pale yellow hand covered the young, vibrant turquoise skin of Qirana's fingers as the Priestess hobbled over to sit down next to her, the knees cracking loudly in the room.

"It may have been many, many decades since I was your age, my child, but I know what it is like to endure the boring lessons and the repetition of long prayers which seems to fall on deaf ears. But this is our life. This is the way of the Holy Mortal and if you wish to continue this route then you must bear down and keep patient."

"May I ask why, Great Sister?" Qirana asked with trepidation, her wide eyes still focused on the faded scales of the Priestess.

"Of course, you may! Did you expect that just because you are following the Path of the Sisters that you are to keep your lips sealed?" Sister Phaelan chuckled again and moved her warm hand away to meet the other in her lap. "We repeat the prayers and the alms and the studies and the boring, tedious chores day after day for one reason. Do you know what that is, child?"

Qirana shook her head, finally meeting her teacher's cataract-covered eyes.

"We must do these things to comfort ourselves in order to comfort those we serve," Phaelan answered simply. The young woman's delicate brow lowered over her large golden orbs as her slightly bucked teeth worried her lower lip.

"We are meant to comfort the gods?" she asked with a touch of confusion. The Priestess laughed louder, a musical noise Qirana had never heard before. A full smile broke on her age-rich features as she regarded her student and the younger woman actually caught a glimpse of what the Great Sister may have once looked like in her prime. The teeth were no longer white and her skin sagged around her frill and neck but there was still something handsome about her. She must've been beautiful, a creature of such delicate femininity that she was sure many of the faithful would've seen her as Arashu in the flesh.

"No, no!" Phaelan held her side as she continued to laugh. "No, child. We are meant to serve the drell. Repetition means we find comfort in the mysteries of the gods.

"Of course, we attempt to please our Makers. But we certainly aren't meant to comfort them. They have no need for mortal emotions. The ways of the gods are eternal secrets we are not meant to understand. It is up to us to shadow that complexity through ceremony and prayers and offerings. Do you want to know what Arashu truly thinks? I certainly wouldn't."

Qirana sighed wearily and felt even more confused than before. She also felt a bit sheepish for uttering the strange answer she gave, causing the old woman to break into fits of laughter. The rheum-cursed hands pulled the young girl to the Priestess' bony breast and gently patted her shoulder with a motherly touch.

"You are a very special young woman, Qirana. The gods chose you for a purpose. What that is I'm not privy to know or understand, but you chose this path for a reason because your fate lies down this road."

Qirana sighed and nodded, still confused but decided not to push the issues. Phaelan let her go and picked her lesson back up exactly where it had been interrupted. This time Qirana didn't let her thoughts drift as she focused on the words spoken to her. From that moment on she decided to follow the Holy Mortal path with an almost hungry passion.

After all, according to her mother, it was a good life. Better a good, boring life than no life at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Uneasy lies the head who wears a crown." William Shakespeare, from Henry IV

Keeris

He should've been in bed. It had been such a long day and in truth he was utterly exhausted but he just couldn't sleep. He left the comfort and solace of his bedchambers for the cold stone passages of the vestibules and allowed insomnia to take its full effect on him. The man known to billions as the Sovereign paced the high arched hallways which houses hundreds of stone sculptures. His slow, method-like walk led him to his destination to stare into the carved marble eyes of the legendary monarch. What he was searching for he didn't quite know. Answers to the planet's massive problems? Suggestions to end the perpetual civil wars that seemed to plague the desert lands beyond the city walls?

He sighed a long, pensive breath as he struggled to keep focus with Korto's unfaltering gaze. He recalled all the stories and myths of the "Great Unifier" and wondered just how many of them were true. He chuckled to himself and shook his head, hearing his rich laugh echo against the granite walls of the hall. For a moment he actually thought the monolith of the ancient king was going to speak, perhaps feed him the words he desperately needed to give him hope. The reverberations of the noise he made returned to his ears as sinister and he immediately stopped his laughing.

Korto never moved; never stepped off the dark red quartz dais or unclasped his hands from the hilt of the sword which was permanently bound to his form. Keeris sigh wearily and hung his head in shame. No one could help, not even the king who seemed more a deity than a once real person.

_The gods aren't even listening anymore_, he almost said but bit down hard on the tip of his tongue, quickly and silently begging for forgiveness for the blasphemous thought. He had been chosen to lead for whatever reason. It wasn't his place to question the gods; he had a job to do. But as the thoughts of all the constant strife and struggles he was witnessing every day, with throngs of citizens pouring into the palace begging for more food and water, he wondered if he even had a chance to help anyone.

The world was dying. Water was more than just scarce, it was almost impossible to find. Because of the lack of water food was also becoming a luxury item. He almost left the confines of the palace one afternoon to see what fate had befallen his empire but the viziers convinced him otherwise. Fearing he would be mobbed or, ultimately, killed he submitted to their pleas and remained behind the high, protective walls of his massive home. There had to be something he could do. There had to be a way to instill hope back to Rakhana.

"But how?" he asked Korto, the king who was said to have wed a Siha. Korto still kept his mouth firmly shut.

"Sire, you should be in your chambers," the voice of his personal caretaker gently spoke through the deafening silence of the hall. Keeris turned his sight from Korto's proud stare and focused on the tall, thin man who was slowly approaching.

"I haven't been able to sleep, my friend," he smiled weakly. "In fact, I'm not sure if I should be sleeping when all around me this world is tearing itself apart."

Iridinus sighed as he regarded the man he devoted his life to serving. Very few were ever privileged to know just how good a man King Keeris Idarie was. He tried, gods knew, to be equal and just, but in this world where it was no surprise to hear about an entire village fighting over a loaf of bread equality and justice had no foothold.

"There is only so much one man can do for billions who are suffering, my lord."

Keeris paced further down the hall, the gold robes around his shoulders hung like a weight on his back.

"This is the way of the Empire," he replied, an irritated huff edging his words. "This is the way Rakhana has been because of him." A long red finger pointed at the statue of Korto, almost accusing the long dead man of a crime. "And because of that I am faced with this burden."

Iridinus followed Keeris down the hall, keeping a few steps back while he continued to brood.

"Sire, Korto became sole ruler of Rakhana at a time the world was flourishing. There were still oceans of water containing life and the society was in the middle of a revolutionary breakthrough."

"Yes, yes, and there were even talks of beginning space exploration programs, I know!" Keeris growled with irritation. "Ridiculous notions, if you ask me. Thoughts of the possibilities of life beyond what we knew, nuclear-fueled power supplies, what a miraculous time it must have been," he shook his head. "And this is what I'm left with six hundred years later; a wasteland full of dying people."

"May I suggest you continue with what you are doing in your reign, Sire?" Iridinus suggested. Keeris paused by a window and stared out at the expanse of the city.

"You may, but it's not enough. I need something to get the citizens to feel that there is still a chance to grow, to take back their world and return Rakhana to her former glory. I need a symbol of some sort," the pads of his fingertips rubbed lingeringly over his lips as he spoke. "I need a champion."

At that thought Keeris' eyes widened and a smile pulled on the corner lines of his mouth. He spun quickly on his heels and stared at his care taker with a new hope.

"That's it, Iridinus! That's the solution! Why didn't I think of this earlier?!" he laughed louder and his posture straightened with his excitement. "I shall search for a representative of the common citizen, an individual who can instill promise and compassion and empathy. When Rakhana sees that there is someone on 'their' side then we can bring about peace and healing! We can get back the Paradise Korto knew this world to be!"

Iridinus opened his mouth, not sure if he liked the idea completely, but then again Keeris was a desperate man. If the idea of finding a so called "champion" would bring him out of his depression then he would gladly humor him.

"It's a lovely thought, Sire…"

"It's a wonderful idea!" he clapped his hands. "I shall hold council with all the Chancellors and discuss the motion. I won't be hindered," he shot a warning glance at the elder man. Iridinus slammed his mouth shut and simply bowed to his king's wishes.

"Of course, my lord. I shall begin preparations for receiving the Chancellery."

Keeris watched Iridinus exit the hall and felt his pride and faith suddenly restored.

"Yes. Rakhana needs a champion," he muttered gleefully to himself. "And once this Hero of the Drell proves to be the inspiration the world needs for a rebirth I shall be named the Second Korto. I will lead my people to a second Revolution."

O . . . O . . . O

Zaphyrim

The sound of heels cracking on the mirror-like finished tile floor let him know that he had a visitor. He knew exactly who it was and it made him wiggle his body with derision. The scientist stepped away from the holographic screen, front left tentacle quickly waving before the interface in order to shut it off. It was bad enough the representatives of the Primacy were cracking jokes at his work; he didn't need the Asari in on it as well.

He turned to face his visitor, patiently waiting for whatever ridiculous reason she was about to use on why she dared to interrupt his work. He seemed to be getting quite a few interruptions lately. Ever since he threw out a pledge for a grant on his research it was more than just the Primacy getting involved. In the past few weeks he had hosted a myriad of Citadel Council members, all of them nearly laughed at his proposal and reason why he requested the grant. The Turian representative, though polite and well-mannered, wasn't above calling him a lunatic. He had a feeling the Asari wouldn't be quite so kind.

"This one welcomes you, Matron," he bobbed in greeting. The Asari stood a few meters away from him, her arms crossed over her chest, and wore a smug expression on her face. She didn't look all that remarkable from any other Asari he had the pleasure (or more like displeasure) to meet. They all had blue skin, bipedal bodies with internal skeletons, advance ocular organs and communicated verbally like most of the known sentient species of the galaxy. And while there was always a communicator nearby to help translate the bioluminescent language into audible speech the Hanar found a way around getting everything that they felt across. The communicators couldn't translate body language and that was a blessed loophole for the scientist. What may have appeared to be a friendly bow of respect for the matron was in fact a rather insulting maneuver to her. The Asari was most likely too proud to even understand just how rude he was being. Most Asari were proud, pontificating fools too stuck up their own backsides to even see other species around them.

The Turians may have been very strict and somewhat coarse but at least they were honest. He could handle honest over arrogant any day.

"You've been gathering a rather interesting reputation about you, Dr. Zaphyrim. And asking for several hundred thousand credits for what is basically an inflated guess is sure to get you some attention," he detected sarcasm in the Matron's voice.

"This one understands that such a request was bound to cause some, if you will excuse its poor use of metaphors, heads to spin. But it truly believes that further exploration of that particular part of the galaxy could prove to be fruitful," he explained calmly. Again he bobbed in what would appear to the Asari to be a generous display of respect. She obviously didn't catch the slight twitch in his right hind tentacle which no hanar could possibly miss. Had she notice the insulting jump in the extension she would've either stormed out of the room boiling with rage or shot him full of biotic lightning bolts. He was all too lucky she wasn't fluent in tentacle gestures.

"That part of the exterior arm has already been explored and nothing of any significant value has been found."

Zaphyrim patiently waited for the Asari to finish then walked over to his terminal and grabbed the bit of data he had been working on before the interruption. With a simple wave of his front tentacle the wide, spacious room was suddenly filled with a brilliant holographic representation of the galaxy, the planets and moons with known inhabitants were marked with faint tags that could be "pulled" away for examination. He focused in on one particular area that didn't seem to have much activity and highlighted a small, insignificant-looking star.

"With further study this one theorized that around this star, which has never been studied beyond its own existence, has great possibility that a planet which could house life may be orbiting around it. There is no known material to denote any exploration has been made. This one wishes to pursue studying the star and its possible planets."

Matron Vassra snorted and cocked the smile on her lips. There was nothing spectacular about the star; it appeared rather ordinary. She walked away from the hanar scientist and stood before the Widow Nebula where the Citadel rested. She was wasting precious time cajoling with this sad excuse for an astrophysicist when she could've been finishing a few tasks for the Asari branch of the Council. She mentally cursed the Council for sending her on this joke of a business trip.

"Of all the advances of technology we have available to us, all the means to explore space with the Mass Relays and send out remote drones to search star systems, you think that there is some massively slim chance that this little, paltry star has a planet that may or may not have some form of life on it? Unless you have something remarkable to offer as evidence I'm going to have to turn heel and demand your so called studies be brought to an end," she warned.

The hanar began to glow with what she interpreted as pride and if it were physically possible he would've smiled.

"This one has more than evidence, Matron Vassra. Observe," he waved her over to his terminal. He had never shown anyone this small bit of information, not even with his fellow scientist. But he really had no choice. If he was to get any chance of furthering his study of the star and its mystery planet he had to reveal something. He chose the audio file and played it for her. The Asari smirked again as she heard nothing but static. However, as the fuzz suddenly changed to what sounded like verbal communication her dark blue eyes widened in shock and her mouth slacked.

"This is not fabricated? It better not be," her voice faded to a whisper. Zaphyrim shook his body "no" and swelled proudly.

"It is not, Matron. The transmission has been dated to approximately one hundred years old by calculations. The language is not recognized by any known sentient who uses audible communication, and yet it is thick with patterns to denote high intelligence," he replayed the short clip and placed it on repeat just to allow the fact to sink into the Asari's fringed skull.

"Why were you hiding this?" she asked, still whispering as she listened to the elegant, flowing alien words playing out of the speakers.

"This one was waiting for the right time to reveal its findings. Does this now convince you to allow the grant money to be distributed?"

Matron Vassra smiled a genuine turn of her lips as she stared at the hanar.

"Do you know what this means, Zaphyrim? Have you any idea how important this could possibly be for the Council, for the galaxy?"

"This one has considered the possibilities," he nodded. "A new species may have been discovered."

"I'll contact the Council and have the credits transferred immediately," she opened her omni-tool and sent a message to the Council secretary to have the requested credits send to Dr. Zaphyrim's research account. The hanar glowed with excitement but then suddenly dimmed. He was going to have to explain quite a bit of secret information to the Primacy. Politicians made him quiver with disgust and the few he had the poor luck of ever knowing made the quivering even more noticeable. He also had a feeling that despite the fact the money would only be for further exploration and study of this little planet and its unremarkable star the politicians would want more than half for "taxes, patents, and license". Of course there would be no patent or license but there would certainly be taxes.

"This one also wishes to request a deep space vessel that can be used should life indeed be discovered in order to investigate and explore further," he added after having the thought of the Primacy sucking dry the grant money.

Matron Vassra looked up from her omni-tool and regarded the hanar with suspicion again. What was the sneaky jelly up to; taking the credits and flying off for the Outer Rim?

"The Salarian Councilor is fond of science. I can possibly schedule a meeting between you and her and if she finds your little discovery worthy she may allow you the use of one of their exploration ships, with a few of her own government's scientists, of that I have no doubt. Unless you want to risk the limits of Hanar ships in unknown territory," she smirked again. Zaphyrim swelled with irritation and tried to keep his sarcasm from showing too much in his glowing. This was turning out to be a bigger hassle than he predicted and he almost regretted listening to that mysterious little transmission.

"This one will accept the Councilor as a guest to the laboratory if it must," he shut down the galaxy map and the bright glow of the hologram faded away.

"Good," the Matron began to walk towards the door then spun back around on her heels, a long finger suddenly pointed at his front protruding lobe. "If I find out that this is a hoax in order to get credits I'll send a Spectre to this Goddess-forsaken raincloud of a planet and have you made into a hat for a krogan to wear. Is that understood?"

Zaphyrim bowed, this time with sincerity.

"Perfectly, Matron."


End file.
